


Kill the Wolf

by ImTuna



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Hunting, M/M, Swearing, Tags Are Added As We Go, Werewolves, descriptive animal death, game typical depictions of racism, game typical depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:29:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImTuna/pseuds/ImTuna
Summary: Charles Smith was a man out of place. Er- a beast out of place. After finally finding a place to settle down, he finds his secret on the verge of discovery; when a stranger shows up and sees him as a wolf, his entire world is suddenly on display, and he must find a way to hide himself again. Maybe it isn't all that bad... (takes place before events in the game.)
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 21
Kudos: 51





	1. Scouting.

**Author's Note:**

> as per usual, I'm making this one up as I go. I'm also fudging the ages a bit, just because I want too. Also fudging american geography. Because I want too. Werewolf dynamics loosely based off the movie Wolfwalkers (basically just the idea that they leave their sleeping body when they turn into a wolf.)  
> whatever enjoy uwu

‘Slaughter!

An entire troop of cavalry men slaughtered in their camp, bloodied in their bedrolls. The grisly scene was discovered by Arthur Callahan, a young man passing through our lovely town. Callahan says he was investigating the strange noises when he stumbled upon the well established army camp, and was shocked to find a large wolf in the midst of the bodies. 

From Callahan’s accounts, and our own sheriff’s investigation, it has been concluded that the wolf had snuck into the camp and killed the soldiers. This is perhaps one of the most devastating attacks the wilds of this area has thrown at us; but rest assured, the town of Gates has now deployed a substantial force of men to hunt down this wolf and it’s pack!

Until then, Gates has issued a warning until the beast is dead. No woman or child is to leave the town without an armed man, and no one is to go into the wilds alone. These wilds, as you know, include the entire uncharted portion of the valley, and it is also advised to stay on the roads.

If you see someone ignoring this warning, please inform Sheriff Redmond immediately, and he will deal with them promptly.

Stay safe, may God bless us all.’

Charles rolled the poster up and put it in his drawstring bag.

He looked around Gates. The sun was high in the sky and the town was bustling with activity. The small town was… Sturdy, was a way to describe it. Primitive may be another. All the buildings were uncut wood, short and tough to last the long winter months. Even now, in the early weeks of fall, every chimney and stove was blazing. This was a town in the far reaches of civilization, nestled in the southern end of a large valley. 

It used to be a simple outpost, Charles recalled from what his father used to tell about this area. It quickly grew into something more as more people came to try to forge their path through the valley. Hunting was tough, just trekking to a good spot took a few days. Horses could barely fight past the thick trees and plants. The valley was full of dense bush, moose, elk, and bears.

Yet, not until lately, no wolves had ever called this valley home. No, Charles had only moved in recently. Now he prowled the valley in his fur every night, alone.

Charles slid through the crowd up the sunlit road. The packed dust was being kicked up under the dozens of feet. He kept a tight grip on his bag, slung over one shoulder. Walking through this town was nice, compared to others. All types of life walked here, and no one gave a second glance at his skin colour or his hair.

He came upon the slightly more civilized looking sheriff’s office. The wood that made up the walls was cut into planks, a sharp contrast to the logs that made up the rest of the town. Charles pushed past the door and into the small room.

Sheriff Redmond looked up from his book, rocking his chair back onto four legs after being tipped back to lean against the wall. The wood stove was blazing. Charles let out a small huff; it was funny when people from the south tried to work in these northern towns. Waste of good firewood.

Redmond cleared his throat, setting down his book. “Well, Mr. Smith, good to see ya again. I dunno if you’ve seen the posters but I’ll have ya stay in town from now on, ‘aight?”

Charles nodded, taking a few steps forward and bringing both hands up to grip on his bag. “I did see them. I was wondering if I could join the men who are hunting the wolf?”

Redmond let out a laugh that was too loud in the small space. “Mr. Smith, I don’t think I’ve heard that many words from ya in yer entire time here! Yes, yes, of course, the men would be thrilled to have such an experienced hunter join them.”

The Sheriff then rustled through his desk for a moment and Charles took a beat to take in the man. Redmond was an athletic man, with broad shoulders, but he didn’t look as though he got much work done. His hands looked much too soft. With a big smile and soft eyes, he looked like an easy mark for anyone passing through, but if you stayed in town long enough, as Charles had, you’d find the Sheriff to be ruthless in punishment, and surprisingly argumentative.

“Now, here's yer map. Don’t imagine you of all people would need it, but some of the other hunters out there have marked down some spots where there's been wolf sign. The other men all have copies of their own.” Redmond passed Charles a hastily scrawled map. “Oh, the other men joinin’ ya are just a few hunters and workers from around here, and that man who found the soldiers, Callahan.”

Redmond leaned forward conspiring and Charles leaned back a bit. Ugh, he smelled too clean. “Just between us, I honestly don’t think they’re gonna find anythin’. It’s probably already moved on by now.”

Charles let out a small breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Maybe. Wolves don’t move around much.”

Redmond narrowed his eyes. “Then how do ya reckon this one got here, huh?”

Charles just shrugged. Surprisingly, and annoyingly, argumentative. 

“Anyway,” The Sheriff continued pleasantly, “They’re doin’ some scouting this evening, before the sun goes down. I don’t get why they don’t just go out tonight; try and catch it sleeping if it’s even still around.”

“Can’t hunt what you can’t see.” Charles said, turning around to head back out. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

Charles stepped out into the street before he heard a reply. He never understood why a man from down south, who had no clue of the wild parts of the world, would live in a place as wild as this. 

And what a wild place it is. Even the town itself reeks of the uncivilized, even though he knows there’s some decent money in some of these houses. Trophy hunting can be quite good business. The people here are surviving, but they’re happy. It reminded Charles of the reservation he grew up on, before he was old enough to see the pain his people went through.

Outside of town was even better. The plant life was slowly being coloured with the reds and yellows of fall, but deeper in the valley the shrubs are already red and purple. Even farther north it’s already started snowing; but no one in town knew that yet, it’d take them a good week on horseback to get all the way up there, even longer on foot.

But Charles knew. He knew this entire valley by now, he’d run through the entire thing on his large paws, and later in his boots as he went searching for that cave or stream he’d discovered the night before. It was a life he’d lived with his father, then later on his own. He’d left his father at thirteen, and had been on his own for the past ten years. 

It was a good life. He was free.

But now they were onto him, and the only way he knew to be rid of them was to play the part of a vengeful human. If he could walk with them, find where they thought he was, he could avoid those spots. Guess he has to stay in town now, anyway; If he went missing Redmond would have a search party tear up the valley.

Charles sighed, finding himself standing on the desolate road on the outskirts of town, looking over the valley. He could almost smell the smoke of his burnt out fire from this morning on the wind.

He’d be back out there this evening.

\-----

Charles groaned, letting his head fall back with a thunk. He was sitting on the bench outside the general store, and he was bored. He’d foolishly left everything back at camp, and with nothing to do, he’s been sitting here for the past few hours. Was it hours? It felt like hours, but knowing him, it could’ve been a few minutes. Worst part of being a wolf was the fact that human things, like waiting, were torture.

He rolled his head forward, glancing at his bag tucked next to him to ensure it hadn’t been touched. He loved that bag; made of deerskin and embroidered with beads. He’d made it himself with the help of a lovely old lady a few years back. It’d help up surprisingly well, with only a few patches from him.

Damn, he wished he’d at least brought his arrows. He could whittle designs on the shafts while he waited.

Charles was interrupted from his musings by a thunk as someone sat down on the bench. Charles started, shifting a few inches away as he took in the man.

He was tall and strong, maybe a few years older than him, with golden hair and a dark hat tipped over his head. He wore a coat unbuttoned over his shirt, which gave Charles the idea he was from south of here. No one else thought it cold enough to wear something over their shirts yet. A shining revolver was slung low over his hips.

Charles watched slyly as the man dug through his pockets, pulling out a cigarette and patting his coat again. He grunted and turned to Charles, who blinked at the sudden movement.

“You gotta light?” The stranger asked.

Charles nodded, digging in his bag before even registering what the man asked. A light, like a lantern? No, he was lighting a cigarette. Matches.

Charles pulled out the pack and struck one without thinking, holding it out to the man to take before it burnt up. Instead of taking it, the stranger leant forward, holding the cigarette still on his lips to catch in the flame.

Charles felt his hair stand on end. Why was he so close? Couldn’t he have just taken it? He fought to keep his hand still.

After a beat the cigarette lit, and the man leant back with a sigh. Charles flicked the match to the dirt and ground it under his heel as the man spoke, “Thanks.”

Charles hummed in reply, sitting up a little straighter.

The two sat in the silence, watching the people walk past the store and the sun slowly move across the sky. Charles’ mind worked quietly trying to figure out who this man was, when it suddenly clicked.

“Callahan.” Charles blurted, surprising the man with the sudden sound. “That’s you, right?”

Callahan slowly nodded. “Yeah, Arthur Callahan. Nice to meet you, er..?” He stuck out his hand.

“Charles.” Charles shook Arthur’s hand. “Charles Smith.”

“Pleasure.” Arthur leaned back, folding his arms behind his head.

Charles let a moment pass before he hummed. “... Did you really see that wolf?”

Arthur smiled and nodded, leaning forward to dig something out of his coat. “It was a beautiful animal.” He pulled out a book and started flipping through it.

Charles felt his face flush a little at that comment but shook it off. Arthur leaned towards him, the open book revealing crisp pages and a drawing.

Charles could see the hastily scribbled sketch, gone over again with thicker lines. It was a wolf, standing big and dark surrounded by half a dozen undetailed corpses.

It was him. The dark fur was a dead giveaway, paired with dark eyes and a splash of white fur on his throat. Yeah, that was him. Drawn so beautifully, standing regally in the midst of his rage. It always felt wilder than how he’s been depicted here.

Charles touched the edge of the page delicately. “That’s amazing.” He breathed.

Arthur nodded. “Isn’t it? Shame we’re gonna go after it.” He said, misinterpreting Charles’ compliment. “You’re coming with us? Look like a hunter.”

Charles nodded, leaning back to rest against the bench. “Yes. I wanted to…” He thought for a moment. “... See it.”

“Not looking to avenge those men?”

“I don’t care for the army.” Charles sniffed.

“Ah.” Arthur muttered, bringing his hands into his lap. “Right. Sorry, you look… indian.. But I didn't wanna assume nothin’..”

Charles let out a short hum, looking out into the street. He watched people walk past as Arthur squirmed beside him. Strange, how uncomfortable white men get when his people are brought up.

Charles let him fidget a moment longer before speaking, “How much longer until we set out?”

Arthur glanced at the sun, and Charles felt a ping of appreciation. People usually look down at a pocket watch these days. “Another hour, at least. Supposed to head out around seven o’clock.”

Charles sighed quietly, standing up. “I’m going to find something to eat.” A beat passed. “Would you… like to join me?”

Arthur grinned and stood.

\-----

Charles didn’t like Gates’ saloon. Too small, too crowded later in the day. He should’ve been here earlier.

The saloon was cozy, the bar right near the door and the rest of the single-story building filled with tables. A large open fire pit was in the middle of the room, the clay surrounding it etched in foreign designs. The fire tonight was roaring, and Charles felt the back of his neck prickle with sweat.

He ordered a plate of something hot, Arthur getting the same but with a strong smelling drink, and Charles followed the blond as he picked a table near the back window.

Charles sat with a sigh, his back to the majority of the crowd. “Loud in here tonight.” He muttered.

Arthur hummed around his mouthful of beef roast. “Guess they don’t got no where else to go, with the warning ‘bout the wolf.”

“Right.” Charles grumbled, piling the beef onto his bread to take a bite.

“You ain’t one for crowds?”

“Nah. Usually I’m not even in town.”

Arthur smiled, “Me neither. Spend most of my time wanderin’ from place to place with my family.”

Great, small talk. Charles was never good at that. “They here with you now?”

“Nah,” Arthur took a sip of his drink, the pint mug catching the warm light in the golden drink. “They’re southeast, near Blackwater. I’m just up here looking for work.”

“Didn’t expect to get roped into a small town’s wolf hunt?”

Arthur laughed, a nice warm laugh. Charles found it much more bearable than the Sheriff’s cackle. “This is a good distraction! Been missin’ huntin’ lately, they’re trying to make some laws down south ‘bout only hunting half the year.”

Charles frowned. “That’s foolish. How would people eat?”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s different down there, out east too. Most people buy their food now.”

Charles snorted, “Strange.” He muttered as he absentmindedly took a sip from Arthur’s mug.

Arthur either didn’t notice or didn’t care, as he kept talking. “Yeah, I don’t get how people trust city pork more than wild game. Shit, have they seen the pigsties in Blackwater? Damn disgusting.”

Arthur took a break from talking to scarf down more food. Charles understood, this beef had been slow cooking on a spit all day, if the roads are quiet the smell can sometimes drift all the way into the woods. He’d spend many hungry nights in his fur savouring that smell as he was hunting.

“My brother,” Arthur was saying, “He doesn’t think there’s anythin’ up here. Kid’s barely spent any time outside a town, so he thinks the entire world is in camp.”

Charles nodded, eating his own meal. Needed some seasoning.

“He wanted to come with me so bad, I was half convinced he’d just follow me. Had to slow down for a few days to make sure.” Arthur chuckled, pointing his fork at Charles. “If you see a skinny kid, maybe fourteen, with the dirtiest hair you’ve ever seen, let me know. With my luck, he’s probably gonna show up right in front of that wolf.”

Charles gave a small smile. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.”

Arthur nodded. “Good, good.” He took a gulp of his drink. “Shit, I’ve been chatting your ear off, haven’t I? Sorry, been on the road a while.”

Charles shook his head, chewing on the sandwich he’d made. “No, I don’t mind.”

“What about you; you ever hunted wolves?”

Charles hummed, finishing his bite before speaking. “No, I don’t usually hunt what I won’t eat. If you eat predators you get sick easier.”

Arthur blinked. “Really? Shit, I haven’t heard that. I’ll have to let Hosea know- he loves hunting bears and cougars. You ever get one of those?”

“Yeah, a bear once. Made my bedroll out of the pelt and sold the rest.” 

He thought for a moment, deciding to share a little story. “I kept the skull, for a while. I was young, and I’d put it outside people’s windows to spook them.” He hesitated, “... Then I’d sneak in when they ran out onto the streets.”

Charles suddenly regretted saying that; Arthur was going to think he’s just a thief- which, to be fair, he used to be. He was a little too big now to be sneaking into houses.

Instead Arthur let out a hearty laugh, slapping the table a few times. “Shit, I’ll have to tell John that one- That’s a good idea!”

Charles laughed softly along with him before Arthur launched into a similar story. “When John was younger- Ah, he’d’ve been, what, eleven?- We’d go out to this saloon out west. I dunno where he learnt it, but he’s a damn good poker player. I’d make a show of being drunk and placing a bunch of bets, then I’d just hand the cards to Johnny and he’d make a fool of ‘em all! None of ‘em would wanna admit they’d lost to a kid so they’d pay us without a fuss.”

The two swapped a few more stories and Charles felt a lot more comfortable around Arthur now. Men like them who work outside the law always have a small feeling of kinship, and Charles definitely thought Arthur was at least a con artist, possibly a thief. 

Charles definitely wasn’t going to admit to being a murderer just yet, though.

Soon enough a skinny man dipped his head into the saloon, “Callahan! Callahan, c’mon, we’re leaving.”

Arthur stood, raising a hand to show he’d heard, and popped his spine. “That’ll be the scouting posse.”

Charles followed him outside, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and was painting the sky in a brilliant pink.

A handful of men waited down the street, the vast woods behind them. The town was on a small bluff at the southern mouth of the valley, the view from here was wonderful. The snow capped mountains rose on either side, stretching out to climb high into the sky far north of here; Charles could imagine the sound of the wind whistling between them in the gap he’d been too scared to crawl through. What’s beyond this valley has barely been touched by man.

Charles followed Arthur as they approached the men. Most were simple workers, used to farming and labour. They were angry about the dead soldiers. A few hunters were among them, Charles recognized the buckskin clothes and the scent of the wild that stuck to their skin. They wanted to kill a wolf.

Charles was there to take some of the eyes off himself. There’s no way anyone suspected what he was, but stories of humans turning into animals were everywhere. He’d been taught to fear men who believed in the old stories.

Arthur was there too, for some unknown reason. He’d called it a welcome distraction, showed no remorse for the soldiers, and called the wolf- called Charles- a beautiful animal.

Why was he here?


	2. Detour.

The sun was hidden behind the mountains, the sky burning a brilliant red and orange hue, and Charles was sick of this shit.

This ‘scouting posse’ was nothing more than a group of men tramping through the woods, yelling, trying to get the attention of a non-existent wolf. Charles had stuck in the thick of the pack for the first hour, but after having his arm brush against the arm of some random man one too many times he now found himself walking ahead of them, often having to backtrack when they went off in a random direction.

He had to admit, the best thing to happen during this excursion was Arthur. When they’d been just about to set out, Arthur had pulled himself into his horse’s saddle and stared as the men began marching into the woods.

“Where they goin’?” Arthur had asked, sounding incredibly confused.

Charles had snorted. “You aren’t getting a horse in there. We’re walking.”

Now Arthur was following him, trusting him more than the others after being led through briars higher than his head. Charles went around, snacking on the raspberries that grew on the bushes. Arthur had locked eyes with him through the thorny plants and fought his way through, sticking right behind him after that.

Charles held another branch back as he walked past, holding it until he felt Arthur take it to keep it from snapping back and hitting the man. They were a good couple dozen paces ahead of the group, and they only caught glimpses of wildlife before the sound drove them off.

“We ain’t ever gonna see anythin’ like this.” Arthur grumbled quietly behind him.

Charles hummed and glanced back. “Wanna leave them? I know a water source is nearby, might see something there.”

“Good idea.”

Charles smiled to himself and began to cut through the prickly trees to the stream he knew was only a short walk from here, but stopped when he noticed Arthur withdraw.

Charles watched as he jogged back to the men, exchanging a few words. He picked up ‘Smith’, ‘go ahead’, and ‘don’t wait’ before Arthur trotted back, smiling.

Charles gave him a quick nod before plunging into the deep trees. He heard Arthur wince as the needles pricked him. He was extra careful to hold the branches for him.

\-----

Soon enough they burst from the trees- Charles had forgotten about the bank they’d have to climb before he was skidding down it with a yelp, Arthur following right behind him. The duo slid down the drop, kicking up the fine gravel and dust as they fell a dozen feet to the ground.

Charles managed to hit the ground on his feet, taking a few skittering steps to slow his momentum. Unfortunately, Arthur had less luck, and fell hard to his hands and knees.

Arthur hissed as Charles drew near, his legs still shaky from the fall. He crouched down, laying a hand on Arthur’s shoulders as he inspected his hands.

“Damn, that smarts.” Arthur scoffed, holding his hands close. They were bleeding and torn up from the fall, and Charles could see his knees were even worse. 

“Anything broken?” Charles asked, digging through the small pouch tied to his belt.

Arthur took a moment, flexing his hands. “No.” He muttered as Charles pulled out a length of bandage and took the man’s hands, beginning to wrap them.

“I’ll put salve on them once we find a better place to stop; I don’t wanna be out in the open like this.” He finished wrapping them and stood, holding out a hand to help Arthur up.

Arthur stared at him for a moment before asking, “Why not?” He took Charles’ hand, overshooting and letting Charles haul him up by the wrist instead. He winced as he stood, his torn jeans sticking to his bloody knees.

“Bears will be coming out soon.” He explained, casting a glance around the stream. He was lying- he couldn’t see the sky from dense trees, but he now saw it was later than he thought, and the bears should already be trudging through the water looking for fish. He didn’t want to be out here, especially with the scent of blood on them.

“You can walk?” Charles assumed. With Arthur’s nod, he dropped the man’s wrist and began walking. It was growing dark, the sky beginning to dot with stars.

Arthur shuffled silently behind him, struggling to pick up his feet. “I promise I’m not usually this much of a wuss.” He laughed awkwardly. Charles could hear him fidgeting with the bandages.

“I know.” Charles stated placatingly. “No one’s big and brave after a fall like that.” he said, unknowingly quoting his mother.

A pause. “But I won’t tell anyone, anyway.”

Arthur huffed a real laugh, and Charles dipped his boot into the water. “We’ll cross here.”

“How deep is it?” Arthur leaned forward to peer around Charles’ shoulder.

Charles narrowed his eyes and glanced at Arthur. Could he not see the shallow water running over the rocks?

Arthur squinted, not noticing Charles’ gaze. “Damn, how can you even see the water?”

Charles threw a glance at the sky, noticing more stars had already appeared. Shit, how late was it? He didn’t really know how his vision was compared to a human’s, but he knew it was better in the dark. Had he led Arthur out here just before nightfall?

“Not deep at all.” Charles blurted, taking a hold on Arthur’s sleeve to guide him. “Should barely cover your feet.”

They sludged through the water, Arthur sliding his feet across the rocks to feel for anything that would trip him. Charles was beginning to feel the hair on his neck prick up- something was nearby.

He peered wildly around the open creek bed. Nothing yet. Should he warn Arthur? No, that’d just earn him questions. He prayed the man kept quiet.

They crossed the water without difficulty, and Charles kept them moving. It was so close, he could already smell the old air from the cave rolling towards them-

And he could smell something else too.

Charles dropped into a crouch, twisting and slapping a hand over Arthur’s mouth, pulling the man down with him. Arthur miraculously kept quiet, though Charles felt him bare his teeth in surprise and pain under his hand.

A large bear, downwind and downstream. Charles could just make out the dark fur against the dark trees, but he knew Arthur couldn’t see a thing. He glanced at Arthur to see the man staring at him with sharp eyes, suddenly completely focussed. That was new.

Charles let him go, and pointed towards the animal. “Bear.” He whispered, barely heard over the running water.

Arthur squinted into the dark and nodded, but his eyes remained unseeing. Charles nudged him, and pointed away from the river, up another steep incline and into the trees, towards the cave.

Arthur looked into the dark, blind, but he still nodded at Charles, continuously throwing glances where he knew the bear was.

Charles looked at the bear again to find it facing away from them, it’s large brown head stuck in the water, but he knew any sound would send it running towards them, swallowing the distance with a few strides. Hell, even a little gust of wind sending their scent would tip it off. Hopefully it kept its nose down.

Charles took in a deep breath, steeling his nerves. It was fall. This beast was hungry. One lone wolf and a blind human were no match against this thing. Damn, he can’t believe he’d left his bow at camp. He couldn’t do shit with a sawn-off until it was on top of him.

He looked at the steep incline again, easily taller than he was, trying desperately to think of a plan when Arthur leaned in, “Any ideas?” He murmured.

The voice was loud to Charles, but a glance at the bear revealed the animal hadn’t noticed. Charles felt extremely exposed, crouched on the river rocks. They had to move.

“Get up that slope.” Charles breathed. Arthur turned and gazed at it, the light gravel almost glowing in the moonlight.

“Climb that? Quietly?” Arthur whispered harshly. Charles’ eyes widened and he made a shushing gesture. He glanced at the bear to find the animal’s head raised; they had to move now.

“Just climb it.” He hissed, beginning to stalk towards the bank, keeping his gaze fixed on the bear.

Arthur followed him, his eyes glued to the bank. Charles pushed him ahead, keeping himself between Arthur and the bear.

“I’m not going to be able to get up there without making noise.” Arthur muttered, placing a bandaged hand on the crumbling gravel.

Charles stared at the bear for a moment longer before sighing. “Then get ready.” He growled, rumbling low in his chest. He heard Arthur suck in a breath.

Without hesitation, Charles leapt onto the bank, catching himself with his arms and kicking the last bit up. Gravel rained down with a clatter, striking Arthur who threw his arms up to ward off the small rocks.

The bear’s head whipped around to them, and it heaved itself onto its hind legs. Charles felt another rumble in his throat but beat it down, crouching over the incline, reaching towards Arthur.

Arthur looked up, still crouching on the rocks, his eyes wide as the bear let out a bellow. “C’mon!” Charles barked.

Arthur shot up, his arm nearly coming short of Charles’ grasp, but he leaned down to catch the flailing hand.

Arthur hissed as his scraped hand burned at the pull, but Charles dragged him up, Arthur’s feet scrambling. Charles looked up to see the bear loping towards them, and heaved Arthur up the rest of the way with a groan.

“Woah, you’re strong-!” Arthur choked out as Charles grabbed his forearm and started running, pushing through offending branches.

They heard the bear roaring as it tried to scramble up the slope, the gravel just falling away under the animal’s claws. Charles ran, the ground beginning to slope up. Arthur slipped on the pine needles, but Charles pulled him along.

Soon the sound of the bear gave way to the muted footfalls on the fallen needles and their harsh breath. They slowed as they came upon a sheer stone cliff, crumbling old and covered in moss.

Arthur gazed up, a look of wonder on his face as he panted. Charles was panting too, his hair had come loose from it’s braid during the run. He swept a hand over the errant strands, gazing through the dark for the cave entrance.

“This way.” He muttered, sniffing the air. The old air of the cave was strong, it must be close.

“Yeah, ok.” Arthur mumbled, his feet dragging as he followed Charles, still staring up at the cliff. A few old, shriveled up trees still clung to the top of the rock, leaning precariously over them.

Soon Charles found the entrance, a jagged crack in the rock. He saw Arthur reach out to the cliff, and he intercepted his hand, guiding him to the edge of the stone. “There's a cave here, we can stop for a moment.”

“Make it more than a moment.” Arthur laughed bitterly, blood seeping through the bandages on his hands, and completely running down his legs. Running must’ve opened the scabs; if his knees had time to scab over at all.

He dug through his pockets, pulling out the box of matches. He gave them to Arthur to light the way into the crevice. Charles gazed out into the woods, the trees sloping down ominously into the dark. They were at a defensible position here, as long as they noticed something coming up the slope.

The cave was too small for anything to fit into, anyway.

A match caught with a splutter, and Arthur wasted no time slipping into the rock. “Tight fit.” He grunted, his voice echoing strangely.

“It opens up.” Charles muttered absentmindedly, distracted by the way the match lit up Arthur’s silhouette. He suddenly felt guilty. He’d dragged Arthur out here on a wild goose chase, going after illusionary wolves and running into ravenous bears.

“Coming?” Arthur called from inside, the match light burning out and being replaced immediately. Charles nodded to no one and followed him in.

The cave opened up a few strides into the stone, just enough for the two men to lay down with a fire between them. Charles went back out for a moment to gather some dead pine branches to burn.

Arthur lit the fire, the dry needles catching quickly. He settled down as Charles pulled a metal tin out.

“What’s that?” Arthur asked quietly as Charles shuffled towards him, opening the tin and releasing the scent of herbs into the cave.

“Ginseng and yarrow, with a bit of… Milkweed, I think it’s called.” He explained, matching Arthur’s soft volume.

Arthur held out his hands, palm up, as Charles unwrapped them. The one he’d grabbed when pulling Arthur up the bank was bleeding again, and he held the bandage pressed against the back of the hand to keep the blood from dripping onto Arthur’s pants.

He scooped out some of the salve, smearing it onto Arthur’s torn hands. Arthur tensed up immediately and Charles froze.

“Sorry.” He said, withdrawing. His voice reverberated around them. “Did you want to do this yourself?”

“No.” Arthur blurted before gazing at the fire flickering off the rock surroundings. “Just… stung a bit, s’all.”

Charles haltingly continued, being a bit gentler this time. “Should’ve warned you.” He muttered, returning to the quiet tone that didn’t echo.

“Should’ve expected it.”

Charles smiled softly, making sure to get the salve everywhere. “I made this myself. I had to buy the milkweed; it only grows out east.”

Arthur hummed and Charles continued to fill the silence; to be in the quiet right now, in this cave, so close to another, would be torture.

“She was a strange lady. Dressed in bright clothes, and had silver earrings.” Charles muttered. “She had a strange way of talking too, like nowhere I’d ever heard before.”

Arthur let out a soft ‘oh’, leaning forward carefully. “I think I’ve seen her before. Sells strange things?”

Charles nodded. “I swear I saw a human skull in that wagon.”

Arthur scoffed quietly, leaning back against the rock wall. “Pff, I could get one of those easy. She’s rippin’ people off.”

Charles laughed softly, wrapping Arthur’s hands back up. He leaned back to examine his work. “I don’t have any bandages for your knees.”

Arthur shifted, pulling his legs out in front of him and picking at the torn jeans. “S'alright. Could use some of that salve, though, if you still have some left?”

Charles nodded, passing him the tin and turning to tend to the fire. He missed the dejected look Arthur gave his back.

\-----

Charles sat squeezed in the entrance of the cave, his nose barely poking out of the crevice. It had been softly drizzling all night, and his eyelids were heavy with sleep.

Arthur snored quietly behind him, the warm cave soft and inviting, yet Charles could not sleep. If he slept, a wolf would suddenly spring from his slumbering form; and with Arthur- who set out to hunt said wolf- in the cave with him it’d probably be a bad idea.

So, he’d found a sharp rock to sit himself on and kept watch, combing through his loose hair with his fingers. He stared unseeing out into the dark for hours.

Eventually, the sky started to lighten. As soon as Charles heard the first few notes of birdsong, he slunk back into the cave.

The fire had gone out, and Arthur was bundled up in his coat. Charles had made two makeshift beds out of pine boughs, but his lay cold and unused. He stepped carefully over the fire, placing his footsteps softly, and leaned over to shake Arthur awake.

Arthur jerked, and suddenly a revolver was aimed at his neck. He sucked in a breath, frozen. Arthur slowly lifted his head, blinking drearily in the dusky light.

“Charles.” He muttered, lowering the gun and sitting up, rubbing sleep from his face.

“Arthur.” Charles replied shakily, rubbing his neck and chest with his hand absentmindedly. “It’s dawn. We should get back to Gates.”

“Right.” Arthur yawned, patting his pockets for a cigarette and the box of matches he’d kept from last night. “Just… gimme a minute.”

Charles nodded and crept out of the cave. He stood upright for the first time in hours and reached for the sky, groaning as every tense muscle in his body stretched. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, checking his sawn-off when he was done.

He stood for a moment, just breathing in the early dawn. The bird song was louder now, and he even saw a few flit between the pine trees. It was still drizzling, though not enough to wet his hooded tunic.

Well. That was… interesting. Not many people slept holding a gun; not many honourable people, anyway. This gave him another clue as to the type of person Arthur was. That, plus that sharp focus he’d gained when they saw the bear, painted a slightly shady character.

Not that Charles was one to point fingers. He had more blood in his teeth than anyone could know.

Arthur pulled himself out of the crevice, yawning and slapping his hat back onto his head. He had his blue coat bundled around him, and he looked out into the forest.

Charles nodded to him, then gazed out into the trees, trying to plan the quickest way back to town.

“Hey, erm.” Arthur spoke, still standing outside the cave entrance. Charles turned to him, gazing questioningly.

“‘M sorry bout, uh, how I woke up.” He stuttered, looking anywhere but at Charles. “I didn’t- it’s just how I’m used to sleeping… I wasn’t gonna hurt you, or nothin’-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Charles cut him off, gazing back into the trees with his hands on his hips. “I’d do the same thing.”

Of course, Charles had never felt the need to do the same thing. He was a wolf while he slept. He watched his own back.

Arthur let out a relieved sigh, audible to wolf ears, and walked up to stand next to Charles. “Good, good, glad we’re on the same page. So, you know the way back from here?”

“Yeah.” Charles said, picking a path down the slippery slope. The pine needles slipped under his boots. 

“You know this area pretty well?” Arthur asked, following carefully.

“Yeah. Been staying out here… hm, the last summer, at least. Maybe spring too.”

“Damn, all by yourself? Don’t it get boring?”

Charles glanced behind him. “How could I ever be bored out here?”

Arthur just looked confused, so Charles gestured at the trees looming over them, thick and ancient, listened to the hundreds of birds singing, the scuffles of the squirrels in the branches, the rabbits being spooked a few paces ahead. The squish of the damp needles under his boots, the branches being shifted out of the way, sending water cascading onto the ground to nourish the dirt. The sky was painted in watercolour, the rain dripping off every inch of the forest, every breathing and non breathing thing drenched in water, the entire world muted and blue.

Arthur gazed with unseeing eyes at the scene. He heard nothing, saw nothing. Always the same with these men.

“Nevermind.” Charles mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I just want a cute fic that isn't a dramatic slowburn. Is it gonna be dramatic anyway? probably. anyway, gunslingers and wolves. ooo, that might've made a better title. ah well. COMMENTS FUEL ME TELL ME ANYTHING


	3. Return.

The walk started out well. The continued drizzle began to soak through Arthur’s coat, leading to him grumbling and trying to unstick his layers of clothes. Charles enjoyed the way the raindrops stuck to his hair, but pulled his hood up when water started to run down his temples.

They were approaching flat, open ground, slipping through waist high grasses. The pine trees around them were huge and ancient, the branches threadbare. Charles used to love climbing these kinds of trees, handholds easy to find and a breathtaking view from the top.

“Should we stop?” Arthur called, hugging his soaked coat around himself. The rain wasn’t worsening, but the relentless dampness was taking a toll.

Charles stopped, gazing around. “I don’t think so.” He said, watching Arthur come to stand beside him. 

Charles pointed up at the mountains, specifically at the place where they dipped into what he knew was the mouth of the valley. “Gates is over there, maybe another hour of walking.”

Arthur groaned, and Charles understood. He was exhausted after spending the night on watch, and he could feel an itch deep within himself. It had been a long time since he’d spent a night as a man; depriving a wolf of space to run is in poor taste.

They continued walking, the golden grass sticking to their hands and tugging at their boots, beginning to sag under the weight of the rain. Charles steered them under the large pines as often as he could, but the scraggly branches did little to deter the weather.

Arthur suddenly jumped, spinning around and smacking Charles’ shoulder as he did. Charles froze, staring out where Arthur was whipping his head.

After a moment Arthur deflated, throwing one last scrutinizing glance around them before smiling sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Thought I heard somethin’.”

“That’s fine.” Charles assured, though he strained his ears. Nothing.

After a moment’s hesitation, they continued. Charles drew in a deep breath, but all he could smell was rain. Now that Arthur mentioned it, though, his hair was standing up.

Probably just the scare and the lack of sleep, putting him on edge.

He’d just dropped his guard when sudden movement to the side made him whip his head around just in time to see a bull moose rise from the grass, it’s large antlers spanning wider than he was tall.

Arthur let out a yelp, he and Charles both reaching for eachother. The moose shook its massive head, lowered its gaze, and charged.

Charles yanked Arthur to the side, narrowly missing the animal’s reach. He scrambled to the nearest tree, crouching to allow Arthur a boost up.

Arthur didn’t hesitate, placing his foot in Charle’s fists and gasping when he was launched into the air, a gust of air forced out of him when he landed on one of the branches.

Charles slid around the tree just in time to avoid the moose crashing it’s head against the trunk, sending a rain of needles down on him. He heard Arthur yelling at him, but focussed on dancing farther away from the moose. 

The huge animal stomped it’s hooves where Charles had been standing, letting out a snort and swinging it’s head wildly to locate him. Charles lowered himself in the grass.

The moose decided to check around the tree again, and as soon as it’s eyes were off him Charles ran, trying to locate a tree with branches low enough to reach. Thundering hoofbeats followed him, Arthur still yelling.

He found one, springing into the air and nearly missing the branch, his hand burning as he swung in the air for a moment before pulling himself up. His boot was struck by the Moose as it passed under him, and he climbed a few more branches before stopping, his chest heaving.

He blinked, watching the moose circle his tree before returning to Arthur. Charles looked up, making eye contact with Arthur in his own tree a couple dozen strides away.

“Well, now we’re fucked!” Arthur called, laughing hysterically. Charles could just make out the broad grin on the man’s face as he straddled a branch awkwardly.

“I’m sorry.” Charles gasped, his voice almost cracking. He saw Arthur’s head snap to face him and he continued. “Why are we even out here, I should’ve just stayed with the men, I knew how dangerous it is in the wilds-!”

“Charles!” Arthur snapped, his branch dipping in agitation. “I don’t care how we got here, we need to focus on getting out!”

Charles nodded, steeling himself and taking a deep breath. After a moment he spoke, “I heard a story of a man.” He called, staring at the moose between their two trees. It looked like it was going to bed down again.

“He was treed by moose. He had to wait until after dark for it to leave to feed.” 

Arthur groaned, and Charles heard him smack his head against the trunk. “Can’t we just shoot it?”

“No!” Charles snapped. “We won’t be able to harvest it anyway, it’d just be a waste.”

Arthur groaned again, low and drawn out, but Charles heard the creak of leather as he holstered his revolver.

\-----

The sun had dipped behind the mountains, casting the valley in shadow, the rain having stopped hours ago. It was chilly, the frosty fingers of fall finally starting to grasp the valley. Charles had been watching Arthur shiver in his tree, but he was starting to grow concerningly still.

Charles was hungry, the meal he’d had over a day ago long burnt up in his desperate running. He was tired and sore, everything hurt. He knew Arthur was feeling worse. Even if the moose did leave in the night, they wouldn’t be able to find their way to town.

Fuck, this was a bad idea.

“I... might have a plan.” Charles said, his voice coming out as fog, startling Arthur with the sudden noise. He saw the moose jerk it’s head up to stare at him from where it lay.

“Couldn’t’ve come up with it a few hours ago?” Arthur snapped, his breath appearing in the frosty air.

“Couldn’t decide if I actually wanted to go through with it.” Charles mumbled to himself. “Still not sure.”

“What?” Arthur called, not hearing him over the distance.

“Just- don’t freak out.” Charles said, tucking himself more securely into the branches. “And don’t shoot me!”

“Shoot you! Why would I shoot you?” Arthur pulled himself farther out onto the branch, and Charles could see the flabbergasted expression.

Charles let out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes closed and feeling the cloud of frost tickle his nose. He focussed, calming his heart rate, and the noise of the forest began to drift away, the sensation of bark in his fingernails leaving him.

Charles yelped, feeling himself smack branches on the way down. He landed with a thud, his fur immediately soaking up the rain left in the grass. Well, that worked.

He heard an angry snort and scrambled to his paws, crawling into the long grass. He felt energetic, the fatigue and hunger of his human body leaving him.

Damn, he’d missed this. The grass smelled rich and fresh, the water amplifying it, and he could smell the musk of the moose and the rage that billowed around the area. He could smell the sickly sweet scent of distinctly human fear, and it almost made his mouth water.

He twitched his stout ears, finding where the moose was snuffing in the grass, trying to find out what fell from the tree. Charles stalked forward until he saw a moose leg right in front of him.

He bit it, his teeth sinking easily into the flesh and the taste of sweet blood flooding his mouth, the animal immediately bellowing and kicking out at him. He stuck on, keeping his forepaws tucked in and his jaw locked just above the moose’s knee. 

The moose spun, dislodging Charles and he jumped back, the flattened grass giving him an easy view of the moose. He heard a cry from Arthur’s tree, but couldn’t afford to glance at him while the moose was charging.

He danced away, keeping one eye on the moose as he ran. The beast followed, billowing angry breaths in the cold air. Charles prayed he didn’t trip.

\-----

Half an hour later, Charles had finally lost the moose. His breath puffed out of him as he panted, steam rising from his fur as he padded back to Arthur.

The soft floor below him gave way to grass, and he kept his nose high to taste the air. The foliage was no higher than his back, yet he found it hard to locate Arthur and his body. He soon found the trampled trail from his chase and followed it.

He soon stood under Arthur’s tree, and wasn’t surprised to see it empty. He let out a whuff, gazing around to see if he could spot the man’s trail. Seeing nothing, he returned to his own tree, pondering how to get back up there without hands.

His tree was empty too. He let out a long, low whine, staring at the empty branches. He’d never… lost… his body before. He was lost. He felt his ears droop and his tail fall.

He circled the tree, his nose to the ground and picked up Arthur’s scent. Good, maybe he’d know what happened. Or maybe he’d taken it.

Charles shook his head, his thick fur billowing out. He started trotting with his head held low, inhaling Arthur’s smell. The acridic tang of gun powder, the soft scent of leather, and just a hint of mint.

He nosed through the grass, as it opened up he started to see the faint marks of scuffled bootprints. Had he been chased? Fighting?

Charles picked up the pace, now loping through the trees, stopping every dozen strides to breath in the scent. Arthur was headed back to Gates, it seemed. Still an hour away on foot, but on paws it’d be less than half that.

Charles ran as the ground below him began to slope up, signaling the edge of the valley. His mind was racing as the sky continued to darken behind him.

What had happened to his body? Had Arthur really taken it? Why would he bother, if not to hold it hostage, or experiment on it, or some other fucked up thing? Maybe it’d fallen out of the tree and was dragged off by coyotes, and he was now without a human body, stuck as a wolf forever-

He pulled up, his paws skidding on the damp grass as the sound of town reached him.

Charles panted, his legs stiff and his fur standing on end. He listened for a moment to the sounds of a town getting ready for sleep; humming voices, laughing children, the rumble of firewood being gathered, the slam of doors and stoves and, above all, the smell of woodsmoke and food and people.

He stayed low, in the red shrubs surrounding town, his eyes peering dark into the streets. He inhaled deeply, but could barely pick out Arthur’s scent among everything else. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but the man was here.

The moonlight lit up the empty roads, and Charles padded onto the dirt. He’d had to sneak into a few towns in his fur, and if he acted enough like a dog, people usually didn’t notice. Of course, it was a bit different in the dark, and with the entire town already looking for a wolf.

He heard a window open and he picked his feet up, lifting his head and tail and bouncing up the road. It was humiliating, but it’s what a dog looked like. He even let his tongue hang from his teeth when a young boy stared out his window, earning him a giggle.

He dropped the act when he slid into the shadows of the motel. The two story building loomed above him as he pricked his ears, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

… There, he heard it. Someone was pacing in one of the rooms upstairs. No one else was new in town, there's only one traveller it could be.

Charles slipped around the back of the building, pleased to find he had remembered correctly, and there was a set of stairs leading up to the second floor.

He skipped up the stairs, his paws slipping a few times on the damp wood, and nosed the unlatched door open. The smell of Arthur was strong here, he must have left it open.

He paused with his head in the doorway, peering down the dark hall. Buildings always seemed tiny to him in his fur, the walls were suffocating. He stepped carefully onto the rug, his claws catching on the loose threads.

His own breath seemed loud in the space, bouncing back to him. He kept his throat tight, lest a whine escape him. His eyes were glued to the floor.

Charles stopped, his nose twitching as he picked up Arthur’s smell seeping out from under one of the doors. He looked up, his ears pricked as he heard someone- Arthur- pacing on the other side.

His tail wagged once and he tried nosing the door open, finding it latched shut. Apparently he made some noise, as the footsteps suddenly stopped and he heard a muffled, “Who’s there?”

Charles stepped back as the door flew open and he was met with Arthur’s revolver and his own sawn-off pointed at him. He blinked at the metal, sliding his eyes up to see Arthur’s intense gaze.

The two stared at each other, and Arthur slowly lowered the guns. “He-” He choked out, pushing the door with the barrel of the sawn-off a little wider. “He... Said not to shoot-”

Charles nosed his way past Arthur’s legs and surveyed the room. His body was laid out on the bed, seeming out of place in the neat space. He wagged his tail and leapt onto the bed, keeping his balance as it squeaked under his large frame. 

He was standing over his body, his hair splayed out on the pillow and breathing softly, about to fall back in when Arthur’s hand entered his view. He slowly turned his head to look at him, and Arthur gulped when black wolf eyes found his blue human ones.

Arthur slowly moved closer, his hand inches from Charles’ cheek. Charles blinked and froze as Arthur’s hand touched his fur, a rush of breath leaving the man, and shiver running down the wolves’ spine.

Arthur dug his fingers into the thick fur, parting it and tracing the scar there. “It’s you.” He blurted, and Charles withdrew.

Arthur watched as Charles turned back to face his body, and after crouching for a moment, leapt into the air, coming down in a burst of sparks and spilling into his body.

Charles opened his eyes, his human ones, and slowly sat up, the bed creaking under him as he groaned, suddenly reminded of his own hunger.

Arthur suddenly backpedaled, his face twisted in apprehension. Charles’ eyes widened and he held out his hands.

“Wait, no, calm down-”

“You’re a-!” Arthur clapped his hand over his mouth. Charles grimaced and slowly stood, crossing the room. His heart broke a little as Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he grew closer, his hand resting on his revolver.

“A wolf, yes.” Charles muttered, standing close to Arthur and placing a hand on the revolver as well, keeping it in it’s holster. He breathed in Arthur’s scent.

“A wolf.” Arthur repeated in a whisper. “... The wolf.”

“Yes.”

Arthur blinked, twisting his hand to take Charles’ own. He felt his hair stand on end as Arthur cradled his hand and brought it up, inspecting it in the light.

“I’m just me.” Charles mumbled but didn’t take his hand back, instead spreading and flexing his fingers slowly. Arthur seemed satisfied that they weren't actually paws, but didn’t drop his hand.

“Why were you hunting yourself?” Arthur blurted.

Charles snorted, “That’s what you ask?”

“I’m kind of freaking out.” Arthur snapped. “I don’t even know what’s going on-”

Charles squeezed his hand, stepping even closer, squishing their hands between their chests. That’s the closest thing to a hug he’s given in years.

Arthur let out a shaky breath, dropping his head onto Charles’ broad shoulder. “I’m sorry- I know you told me not to freak out, but-”

Charles brought his other hand up, petting Arthur’s hair. “Don’t be sorry.” He muttered. “I’m sorry for all this.”

Arthur chuckled, muffled into Charles’ shoulder, “We can’t both be sorry.”

Charles laughed too, stepping back and letting their hands drop. Arthur drew himself up, screwing his face up in an attempt to look composed.

Charles ran a hand through his tangled hair, “If you want, I can go. I’ll come back in the morning- or, never, if you’d prefer…”

Arthur was already shaking his head, brushing past him to slump into the wooden chair next to the table under the window. He pinched his nose between his fingers, “No, stay. I want to talk, I just… need a minute.”

Charles nodded, padding to the chair opposite him and sitting down, his hands folded in his lap.

\-----

Charles’ exhaustion was creeping up on him, and he was nearly dozing in his chair when Arthur shifted, snapping him awake.

Charles glanced at him to find Arthur’s head tilted back, his arm thrown over his eyes and his legs splayed in front of him. The man was muttering, his lips barely moving, and Charles listened as he spoke about ‘Wouldn’t believe’, ‘Hosea told me’, and ‘Kept this from me’

“Kept this from you?” Charles blurted, indignation boiling his blood. Arthur started, his eyes wide as he nearly fell from his chair.

“What-?”

“You mean me, and how I kept this from you?” 

Arthur shook his head, “You could hear that?”

“I’m a wolf, Arthur. I hear a lot.”

“Right.” Arthur shook his head harder, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, maybe it’s best you go.”

Charles’ heart sunk as he gaped, all tension leaving him. “Uh. Yeah, sure.” He muttered, going to stand.

Arthur groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “No, don’t. I don’t- don’t really want you to go, I wasn’t talking about you- You didn't keep anything from me.”

Charles tilted his head, a few strands of hair falling forward. “... You weren’t talking about me...?”

Arthur shook his head and Charles felt his face flush, falling back into his seat. “Damn, sorry- I didn’t mean to listen in-”

Arthur let out a soft laugh. “No, I understand. I was just talking about how my.. My father, Hosea, he’d always tell us stories of… I dunno, they were just stories.”

“Stories of wolves.” Charles said softly.

Arthur nodded and Charles sighed. “There's a lot of stories.”

“Tell me the real ones.” Arthur blurted, looking at him with a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Tell me everything.”

Charles let out a slow breath. “Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn i'm really. spitting out these chapters and neglecting my other work, huh. lmao my bad.  
> anyway COMMENTS FUEL ME TELL ME WHAT U THINK THANKS FOR READING <3


	4. Settle.

Sunlight was starting to spill into the room. The hotel was decorated in a slightly rustic decor, though it really just looked like every other building in Gates. Hand woven rugs, raw wood furniture, patched up quilts and pillowcases. What it lacked in aesthetics it made up for in comfort.

The morning had burnt up any of the rain left from yesterday, though the temperature was still chilly. Most of the townspeople were finally breaking out the heavier coats and boots, hurrying to finish the harvest. The birds continued to sing, but they’d be flying south soon.

Charles knew that this would be the time to be hunting, eating as much as he could and drying the rest to prepare for the winter ahead, and maybe try to find a nice cave or outcrop to set up camp.

Instead, he had stayed up all night talking about himself, a very rare occurrence.

“So, let me get this straight.” Arthur said, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “So, you’re never going to go crazy on me, or anyone else.” 

“No.” Charles grumbled, the lack of sleep getting to him. “I’m in complete control of myself at all times, my temper is just a little shorter in my fur.”

Arthur nodded, “Ok, good to know. And, uh, the story of silver bullets is bullshit?”

“Basically. Anything can hurt me, including silver. If I get killed or seriously hurt in my fur, I just jump back to my body, but if I’m killed as a man there’s nothing to be done. If my human body dies when I’m in my fur, I’m stuck as a wolf.”

“You keep saying ‘in your fur’.” Arthur scratched the back of his head. “You mean, when you’re a wolf?”

“Yes, It’s just what I’ve always said. I’ve… never really thought about it.”

“Huh. ok.” Arthur thought for a moment. “So, everytime you sleep, you’re a wolf?”

“Yes. I honestly don’t really know what it’s like to sleep, I’m always… awake, I suppose.” Charles shifted, suddenly aware it was strange.

“Don’t that get exhausting?”

“Not really. I get tired, but as long as my body sleeps enough, I’m not sleepy when I get back.”

“Are there any other wolves out there?”

“Like me, you mean? I suppose so. Only other one I’d known was my mother, but she spoke as if everyone she knew was a wolf.”

Arthur shook his head, but he was smiling. “Damn, this is strange.”

“I’m suddenly starting to think so, too.” Charles said bitterly.

Arthur let out a soft ‘oh’. “Am I- Are these personal questions?”

Charles sighed, rubbing his face and leaning back. “No, I’m just tired.”

Arthur smiled, leaning on the table towards him. “If you slept right now, you’d be a wolf, right?”

Charles nodded and Arthur jumped to his feet, striding to the bed and fixing the sheets. “Well, Charles, there’s a warm, clean, bed right here if you’d like.”

Charles snorted, but went to sit on the bed anyway, unbuckling his gunbelt and letting it pool on the floor. “You just trying to see a wolf again?”

“Maybe.” Arthur said with a smile. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

Charles rolled his eyes good naturedly and bent to pull off his boots. “Sure. Just remember I can’t answer any more questions without a voice.”

“I’ll think of something.”

Charles slipped under the covers, the softness of the mattress strange to him. He closed his eyes, hearing Arthur walk back to the table and open the window. The cool draft brushed over his forehead as his eyes slipped closed.

He breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the thick, dusty blanket and the room. The smells of town drifted in through the window, and above all, he could smell the wild scent of Arthur, with just a hint of mint.

Soon, he felt himself rise, and opened his eyes to stare at his own face. He looked at Arthur when the man gasped.

“That was- you just-” He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “It looked like- like sparks, campfire sparks, just floated up and suddenly, there you were-!”

Charles felt his tail wag lazily, Arthur’s mood contagious. Honestly, it was kind of flattering to be the object of someone’s curiosities. And Arthur was never rude about his questions. It made him feel…

...Interesting.

Charles hopped softly off the bed, taking a few steps to prop his paws up on his chair and sniff the air coming in from the window. Ah, the tang of fall was always nice.

“So, uh, what are the rules?” Arthur asked, leaning forward and studying him.

Charles stared at him, tilting his head, and Arthur managed to interpret that as a need for clarification.

“Well, you’re a wolf. But you’re still a man, right? Should I- I dunno, slap someone if they try to pet you?”

Charles would’ve laughed, but settled for wagging his tail wildly. He’d never really thought about it, and decided to try it out. He pushed off the chair, sending it skittering a few inches back, and padded to Arthur, leaning against his leg.

Arthur let out a quiet, bewildered laugh and hesitatingly dug his fingers into Charles fur. “You look nothing like a dog.” Arthur muttered, “You’re bigger than any dog, or wolf, I’ve ever seen, is that a wolf thing or a you thing? Cuz you- er, your human.. Form? You’re pretty big too. That definitely ain’t a bad thing, I know how strong you are. Oh, is your strength a wolf thing or a you thing?”

Charles huffed, pressing himself against the chair. He had no idea how to answer any of that, or if it was even directed at him. He did know, however, that it felt good to be pet. How humiliating.

Arthur moved his hand up, scratching at Charles’ head, and he felt his tail start wagging again. He closed his eyes, pressing his head into Arthur’s hand and he heard the man laugh.

“So, I guess pettin’s ok? From me, at least. I dunno about you, but I don’t like strangers touchin’ me at all. I think we’re alike that way.”

Charles turned around, sitting next to the chair and plopping his head on Arthur’s thigh. Arthur kept petting him, staring out the window, and Charles let his eyes slide closed.

Arthur scratched behind his ears as he spoke, “I wanted to clarify somethin’... last night, you thought I was talkin’ about you, when I said somethin like ‘he kept this from me’?”

Charles let out a soft woof, earning a laugh from Arthur. “I’ll take that as a yes. Anyway, I was talkin’ about Hosea, and how he’d tell us stories about wolves. I was just thinkin’, he’d always just call ‘em stories, but I’m starting to wonder...”

He sighed, stilling his scratching and Charles opened his eyes to catch the pensive look on Arthur’s face. “... He ain’t ever one to lie to us. He always seems to know everything, and anything he tells us rings with truth. We loved those wolf stories, and the stories of wild magic, because they seemed to be the only thing he told us that was… just that. Stories.”

Arthur sighed, lowering his hand to trace the scar on Charles’ cheek. “I’m thinkin’ he just let us believe they were fake, and I’m wondering why.”

Charles knew why, his own father had preached a similar lesson. Don’t listen to the old stories, they’re dangerous, people will believe anything when they think they’re in danger, don’t hang around for them to grab the pitchforks.

He couldn’t put any of that into words, so he settled for whining and pressing his muzzle into Arthur’s hand.

He laid down at the end of the bed when Arthur started to doze off, studying the grain of the floorboards.

\-----

Eventually, a woman opened the door, startling both Arthur and Charles. She let out an exasperated huff when she caught sight of Charles. “Mr. Callahan, there are no pets allowed in this establishment-” She cut herself off with a gasp, spotting the mess of dark hair in the bed.

“I’m sorry,” She said in a whisper that was anything but quiet. “I didn’t know you had a lady over. I’ll leave you two be…” And closed the door with a click.

The duo listened to her shoes click down the hall, and Arthur muffled a laugh. Charles huffed, a pang of annoyance at the lady comment, and hopped onto the bed.

“Ah, you’re waking up?” Arthur stood, stretching in the light of the window. Charles let himself admire how the man’s hair caught the light.

Charles crouched, readying himself for the jump, and leapt into the air, the familiar fizzle of sparks disintegrating into his body below. He didn't bother opening his eyes, rolling over and bringing his arms up to stretch with a groan.

“I ain’t ever gonna stop thinkin’ that’s amazing.” Arthur was saying, bustling around the room. Charles hummed, still wrapped up in the warmth of sleep. Damn, real beds are cozy.

“Wanna go find something to eat?” Arthur asked, leaning over Charles. “Or not. you look pretty… comfortable. Pretty comfortable.”

Charles hummed again, finally opening his eyes to meet Arthur’s gaze. “I’m starving.” He rumbled.

Arthur gave him a lopsided smile as Charles sat up, swinging his legs over to put his boots on. He yawned again while tying his hair back and Arthur laughed. “You’re still tired?”

“I haven’t slept in two days, this wasn’t nearly enough.”

Arthur gave a small frown, leaning against the wall near the door. “You didn’t sleep the night before last? In the cave?”

Before Charles could answer Arthur blinked, smiling, “Oh, right. Wolf. That would’ve been a surprise.”

Charles laughed softly, returning his sawn-off to it’s holster and adjusting the belt over his hooded tunic. He slid out the door Arthur held open for him, both of them opting to take the stairs straight outside.

They walked past the hotel wall and stepped onto the sunlit street, Arthur pulling his coat closed around him. “Shouldn’t be this cold yet.” He muttered, walking to the saloon.

“It always gets cold earlier up here.” Charles supplied, the dirt crunching under his boots. “And gets warm later.”

Arthur just harrumphed, pushing his hat down onto his head as his breath billowed out from under it.

Charles smiled, holding the door of the saloon open as Arthur walked in, savouring the warmth of the room. 

Charles was at the bar asking for two plates of something hot when a shout caught his attention. “Damn, you boys finally made it back! What the hell happened out there?” A man was laughing, echoed by a few of the other men they’d set out with. 

Charles’ blood suddenly ran cold, and he just stared at the plate of food that was handed to him. The sounds of the saloon were suddenly muted.

Arthur wouldn't…

… Tell anyone, right?

Arthur picked up his plate, moving to sit with the other men, and Charles almost felt a whine slip out. He should run, or bite something, anything, this couldn’t end well-

“Charles!” Arthur called, smiling, but the smile fell away when Charles turned to look at him. “You alright? C’mon, we’ve got a story to tell.”

Charles gulped, his heart in his throat as he picked up his plate, covered in eggs and ham, and shuffled to sit at the table as well.

He sat as close as he could to Arthur, and far away from anyone else. He picked at his foot, his throat tight and his eyes darting wildly. Damn, was Arthur going to say anything? He hadn’t really told him not to, but Arthur had seemed to understand it wasn’t something he just tells people. 

“Well? Why was you boys out so long?” One of the men piped up from his steaming mug.

Arthur laughed, nudging Charles’ elbow. “Shit, it’s a story alright. Y'all wouldn’t believe it.”

This prompted a chorus of ‘Go on, tell us!’ and ‘Don’t you start that shit, what happened?’ and Charles started to feel sick.

He kept quiet, but listened intently as Arthur spun his tale. He started with the bear, how they’d scaled a sheer cliff to get away from it, then how they camped out in the deepest reaches of the earth, finally being treed by half a dozen moose, and the desperate run home carrying an unconscious Charles. That part was accurate, at least.

Arthur had left out the wolf, too.

Charles blinked, surprised, as Arthur drew his story to an end. The men started squawking, some of them congratulating them on their bravery and some calling bullshit. Arthur laughed them all off, perfectly at ease among them.

Charles had never felt more out of place.

\-----

Charles was sitting in the grass on the edge of town, picking at the tiny flowers that stubbornly refused the return of fall.

Arthur had wandered off after eating, saying something about his horse. Charles had never had a horse, he’d just taken rides from the wagons heading between towns, trading the few coins he’d scrounged up. It just never seemed fair, to keep an animal only for the few times in his life he’d needed one.

He strained his ears as someone drew near, interrupted from his musings. The breeze brought the scent of mint, and he smiled, glancing over his shoulder to see Arthur already grinning back at him. “Can’t ever get past you, huh?”

Charles shook his head as Arthur plopped on the ground next to him, keeping his coat tight around him. They sat together, Charles breathing in the smell of fall and town and mint. Arthur breathed deeply, and Charles glanced at him, waiting for him to speak.

“I was thinkin’, just now, how it was…” He sucked his teeth, trying to find the words. “... How big of a deal this was. You telling me, I mean.”

Charles let out a slow breath, watching the thin fog float down to the flowers in front of his crossed legs. “Yeah.” He mumbled. “I haven’t told anyone.”

Arthur nodded. “I’d figured. I noticed how you looked at the saloon, and I just want you to know, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about from me.”

Charles blinked at Arthur’s soft smile. “... Yeah...?” He hated how broken he sounded.

Arthur nodded, knocking their knees together. “Yeah.” He echoed, “And I was thinkin’ that, if it’s ok with you, I’d like to return the favour? A secret for a secret.”

Charles thought for a moment, humming. “Only if you’re sure.”

Arthur let out a shaky breath. “Alright.”

Charles nudged his knee into Arthur’s. “I’m serious. Only if you’re sure. If it’s anything like my secret, I’ll understand if you keep quiet.”

“Nah, it's not…” Arthur thought for a moment. “Well, if you mean, it’s dangerous for me if people know, yeah, sometimes. But I trust you.” He grinned.

Charles smiled softly back, returning his gaze to the flowers. “Alright, then.”

Arthur drew in a breath, steeling himself, before continuing. “... You heard of the Van der Linde gang?”

“A little. Thought about going after the bounties, like every other young gun.”

“Oh, when was that?” Arthur sounded like he was getting off track. 

Charles indulged him. “Late this spring, it must’ve been.”

Arthur made a soft ‘oooh’ noise. “How high’s mine?”

“... What…?”

Arthur’s eyes widened, and he jerked back. Charles’ mind was working. “Your… bounty? In the Van der Linde gang? That bounty?”

“Shit, um-”

“Arthur Morgan, Eight hundred.”

Arthur stilled, and Charles felt his gaze burning into the side of his face.

“... You don’t care?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“I care.” Charles stressed, “But you know I’m not much different.”

Arthur just blinked, looking confused, so Charles continued. “I’m a wolf- the wolf, right? Remember when you first saw me?”

Understanding dawned on Arthur’s face. “Right, surrounded by dead soldiers.” He muttered, picking some of the flowers. They bent in the light breeze, and Charles saw a few errant strands of blond hair wave in front of Arthur’s eyes.

“We ain’t like that, though.” Arthur said, sitting up a little straighter. “We help people, save ‘em as need saving, feed ‘em as need feeding. We don’t go round killin’ people for fun.”

“Fun?” Charles snapped, startling Arthur. He felt his hair bristle. “You think I kill for fun?”

“Revenge is an idiot’s game, Charles.” Arthur said, not sounding like himself.

“It wasn’t revenge, it was justice.” He growled, a real one, and Arthur’s eyes widened. Charles’ blood was boiling; was Arthur really this dense? No, he’d shown intuition and kindness. He was just being a dick.

Just then, the sound of hoofbeats and the smell of fear washed over Charles, sending his already tense voice into a snarl.

“Arthur!” A young voice called, both the men twisting to look at the newcomer.

Charles saw a boy, no older than he’d been when he left his father, nearly falling down from the saddle of his warhorse. He was scrawny, with a wild mess of dark hair and grey eyes filled with fear. Both he and his horse were steaming in the cold air.

“John?” Arthur breathed, rising to his feet.

“Arthur!” The boy, John, repeated breathlessly as he skittered towards them, the horse following as far as the grass before it started to graze.

“John, the hell you doin’ here?” Arthur snapped before his voice took on a concerned tone. “What happened?”

John reached Arthur and was pulled into a hug. “I don’t- don’t know! They just-” John was sobbing now, Arthur petting his hair.

Charles stood as Arthur leant down, brushing the hair out of John’s eyes as he assessed his tear-streaked face. “Calm down, boy. Tell me what’s wrong?”

“They left me!”

“Who?”

“Dutch, and Hosea! And Mrs. Grimshaw, a-and the rest of ‘em-” John wiped the snot off his face with his long sleeves.

“What you on about, they wouldn’t leave you!” Arthur growled, Charles stepping closer instinctively.

“I don’t…” A snot-filled sniff, “...Don’t know what happened! I was out washin’ up, ‘n when I got back they was all gone!”

Arthur shook his head, dragging the boy into another hug. “I’m sure they didn’t go willingly, Johnny. Somethin’ must’ve happened to ‘em.”

John didn’t answer, but continued to sob as Arthur dragged him down with him as he sat. He bundled the boy up and kept him safe from the rest of the world, just for a moment.

Charles stood over them, and when Arthur looked at him, Charles could see fear hidden in his eyes, and written into every freckle and crease on his skin. He could smell it seeping off him.

Charles sighed, looking out over the tops of the trees. He needed to go find his bow, forgotten by a long burnt out campfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes. I write one chapter in a month and a half. Other times, I'm obsessed with the idea of cowboy werewolves and write 4 chapters in 2 days. yeehaw. lemme know what u think uwu


	5. Trek.

Charles was back at his camp, tucked under a stone outcrop on the bank of a shallow river. He’d been just about to move on anyway, so most of his stuff was packed up. His axe was sharpened and in its holster, ready to clip onto his belt. He’d made new arrows and repaired the old ones, all of them tucked into his quiver. His various pelts bundled up, ready to be used or sold, along with other various odds and ends, all tucked away into his trusty embroidered bag.

What concerned him was the lack of food. 

Food was hard to find in the winter for everyone. And instead of stocking up, finding a cool cave to stuff with meat, he was going on a trip to find Arthur’s family.

Yet he didn’t regret agreeing to go, not one bit.

He was packing his bag, the sides beginning to bulge with all the extra pelts. The rabbitskins were nice, and would fetch a pretty penny. If he could find someone in town willing to buy them, he’d have enough cash to go down south.

Charles drew back, huffing after stuffing the bag. He kept one knee on the top as he pulled it closed, then stepped back to inspect it. Poor seams, he’d have to reinforce them again when this was all done.

Charles made one last loop around camp, picking up a few knick knacks. Whittled wolves and horses were discarded onto the river rocks to be swept away in the spring, pretty stones he’d kept just to look at for a few nights lost to the water.

He was finally satisfied with his packing when the sun had already disappeared beyond the mountain. He stoked up the fire he’d been neglecting, letting it roar. He sat on his bedroll, made of black bearskin, and pulled his bow onto his lap.

The couple nights outside had made him worry, but his bow was strong and steady as ever. He inspected it all over, then did it again for good measure. The string was still taut, the limbs didn’t crack when he pulled, and the braided hide handhold hadn’t been too waterlogged, yet he made a mental note to replace it soon.

He set it to the side and let his hands drop to his lap, staring out over the gurgling river.

Why was he doing this?

He held no obligation to the kid, yet obligation to Arthur was a different story. Though, Arthur had made it fair by telling him he was an outlaw. A secret for a secret, he’d said.

Damn, that was a whole other can of worms. Charles had already guessed he wasn’t the most noble man, yet to have a bounty on your head is no joke. And to run with a well established gang? Charles wondered what kind of company he’s been keeping.

Yet, try as he could, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind too much. Pot and kettle, and all that.

Charles sighed, deciding to call it a night. He double checked his bedroll was well under the outcrop to avoid any rain, and kicked his boots off, unbuckling his belt and taking off his musty hooded tunic. Eugh, been wearing that for far too long.

He slipped into the fur bedroll, breathing in the old fur and water and rock. He stared into the crackling fire for a moment more before letting his eyes drift close.

A few breaths later, he stood over his body, his fur finally feeling the night air. He stepped off the bedroll, shaking out his fur and looking out over the river.

He took in the view, his wolf eyes giving it a little more clarity. He watched the way his shadow danced with the flames, bouncing around the river rocks.

He took one last look at his slumbering body, and trusting the fire to keep predators away, he trotted off into the dark.

\-----

For the second night in a row, Charles found himself trying to sneak into town. The night was cold, the grass crinkling under his paws. He gazed out into the desolate roads, the late hour promising safe passage. 

Of course, nothing was guaranteed.

He’d just started padding down the road when a ragged gasp startled him, his fur blown up as he stared at an old man, who had been dozing on his porch.

The man spluttered and pointed, and Charles ran. A cry rose up behind him, quickly echoed by a few others nearby.

“Wolf! Wolf- It was just here!”

“What! Where?”

“Mommy, what’s happening?”

“Go back to bed, you cranky old fool-”

“Dear, grab my rifle!”

Charles slipped into the crack between two houses, spitting him out onto the road in front of the motel. The cries seemed far on the other side of town, but his heart refused to stop pounding. He slid into the shadows of the motel, creeping up the creaking stairs. He nosed the door open, it’d been left unlatched again.

Ah, Arthur knew he’d come.

Charles stepped into the foreboding hallway, quickly slinking to Arthur’s door and wagging his tail when he found a sliver of candlelight already spilling through.

He poked his nose through, sniffing the familiar shred of mint, and another, new scent. He pushed a bit farther to find Arthur had pulled a chair up near the bed, his hand clutched in John’s sleep tight grip.

Charles padded the rest of the way in, the creak of the door alerting Arthur, who looked up and smiled.

“Get the door, will you?” He whispered.

Charles prodded the door shut, listening to it click quietly. Arthur let out a breath and Charles’ claws tapped on the floor as he went to lay under the table, settling down with a huff.

“I heard ‘em yelling out there.” Arthur murmured, “Get into some trouble?”

Charles let out a low grumble, draping a paw over his face. Arthur laughed softly, Charles’ tail thumping on the floor in return.

He removed his paw, stretching out and keeping his eyes on Arthur’s face, watching the sullen look seep back in.

“I’m scared, Charles.” It was so quiet, but wolf ears picked it up easily. “They wouldn’t’ve left him alone like that unless they was caught.”

At Arthur’s choked breath, Charles got up, moving to press his face into Arthur’s thigh, a low whine building in his throat.

“‘M sorry, too.” Arthur uttered, digging his fingers into Charles’ neck ruff. “About earlier. I know you don’t kill for fun, I don’t know why I said that. Just… jumped into defending myself, I guess.”

Charles let out a soft woof, lifting his head to settle on Arthur’s lap and stare at John’s sleeping face. He’d already forgiven him.

They stayed like that until the sky began to grow light. Arthur had fallen asleep in his chair, slumped over with his hand still in John’s grip. Charles rose to his feet, the pop of his spine as he stretched seemed deafening in the morning light.

He started towards the door but stopped short, remembering it was latched. He felt bad for waking Arthur, but he wanted to leave before the town woke up. He went back and nosed Arthur’s hand, him waking with a snort.

Arthur absently scratched Charles’ head, slipping his other hand from John and rubbing the sleep from his face. “You goin’?” He mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

Charles gave a small woof, wagging his tail lazily. Arthur nodded, patting him again. “Thanks for lettin’ me know. We’ll be up soon, if you wanna come back here.” Arthur stretched for a moment before standing. “I’ll get the door for you.”

Charles followed him, watching Arthur sleepily stumble to the door before opening it. He pressed his nose in Arthur’s palm for a moment, huffing a warm breath before slipping through the door. As he passed, he noticed this was the first time they’d stood beside each other with him in his fur. He easily passed Arthur’s waist, he could’ve nudged his elbow with his nose if he wanted too.

While he was in the hallway, he heard John’s sleepy voice mutter. “Who were you talking to?”

Charles wagged his tail as Arthur stuttered some excuses, nosing open the door to the stairs and breathing in the cold morning.

It was later than he thought; the town was already stirring and Charles weighed his options. He decided to stick to slinking through the shadows, hoping the morning chill kept everyone in their houses for a little while longer.

The frost made him pick his paws up as he trotted around the back of the hotel, slipping along the backs of the houses. A dog barked and he jumped, skittering forward a few strides before slinking a little closer to the buildings.

He was almost gone when someone shouted too far behind him to be of any concern, but it made his heart race anyway. “Lookit- Boy, lookit this- these are wolf prints! That old geezer was right!”

Charles tucked his tail and ran across the road, leaping into the bushes.

He was halfway to his camp when he remembered it’d been a while since he ate, and he was going to be starving when he woke up. He slowed his pace, sniffing the air, trying to find something to hunt. Good thing it was still early.

He was, as he was every night, grateful that he could eat as a wolf and it’d keep him full when he woke. Same as any new wounds he'd gained would appear as a man, and however dirty he got, it stuck with him. How it worked, he didn’t know, but hunting in fur was way easier than with a bow.

Not smelling anything, he decided to slink around the undergrowth for a bit. The sun was starting to burn away the frost, though the chill still clung to the air. It was really fall, now, the birds gone quiet. It always amazed him how, this far north, the seasons changed as quick as a snap.

A crunch in the bushes that wasn’t him caused Charles to freeze, one paw still hovering over the leaf litter. He breathed in, smelling the sweet scent of a rabbit. Easy.

He sunk even lower, his eyes peeled as he tried to pinpoint the animal’s location. His ears twitched as he heard scritching, and a tiny movement in front of him. 

The animal was chunky, having been gorging itself in preparation for winter. It’s ears were lazily drooping back as it nuzzled at the leaf litter, looking for grass shoots to chew on.

Charles’ vision narrowed, his ears straining and his limbs buzzing. He hadn’t been completely truthful with Arthur. He’d never hurt someone he liked, and he’d never lose control, but when the thrill of the hunt filled his veins he felt wild and whole.

He shot forward, two strides, and the rabbit was screaming before he clamped his jaws on it. Leaves and dust were kicked up, a few winter birds scaring from the trees. He breathed heavily as the animal shrieked, warm blood dripping from his teeth as he let his teeth sink in through fur, skin, flesh, to crunch through the bone. The rabbit may have had a lot of meat, but he still felt his teeth touch, nearly cleaving through the entire thing. The screaming had stopped, and blood dripped onto the leaves as hot breath billowed through his throat around the meal’s fur.

The whole ordeal was only a few seconds, but it left Charles’ fur standing on end, his bones coursing with electricity.

He dropped it, panting fog into the morning as he looked at his kill. The pelt was unsalvageable, as it often was when he hunted in his fur. He let himself sink to the ground, the chill of the ground seeping through his belly fur, and he used his paws to hold the rabbit down as he started to tug the fur away.

Charles’ neck rippled as he used his incisors to tear at the fur, clumps of fluff floating around him as he ripped into the skin, finally licking at the warm flesh and blood, his tail thumping once and stirring up a few leaves.

He gulped it down, piece after piece, easily crunching through bones and organs. He tore into the head, licking up the brain matter and eyes. He avoided the intestines, instead nosing around to find kidneys and liver, chewing on the gummy heart, enjoying the way it burst in his mouth. He could recall a candy that did that too, made of gelatin and filling.

When he was done, he felt full and satisfied. He licked the blood from his paws, pushing away the mess of fur and organs he didn’t eat. He rose to his paws, shaking himself to rid his fur of any rabbit fluff, and trotted away, his tail held high and feeling happy.

He arrived at his camp when the sun was finally breaking over the mountains. The river glittered and the river rocks shifted under his feet. Blood was dried on his face and neck, staining the white patch on his throat pink. He lapped up some river water and stretched, moving over his body, looking cozy and warm wrapped up in bearskin.

Charles leapt in, opening his eyes in time to see sparks glittering through the bear fur. He yawned, raising his arms over his head and stretching. He smacked his lips, the taste of rabbit still on his breath. His face and neck were sticky with blood.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and pulled his boots on. He went to the water, dunking his face in and scrubbing, watching bloodied drops be swept away in the current. He changed, putting on his well worn blue dotted shirt and pulling his necklace on overtop. He wasn’t a particularly materialistic man, but he did like pretty things. Beads, embroidery, etched designs, sketching. He appreciated the work that went into them.

He twined his hair into a loose braid, a few odd flyaways dancing in the breeze. He considered shaving but discarded the idea; his mirror was already packed away. He strung his bow over his back, his quiver on his back as well and his axe clipped to his belt. His sawn-off was cared for, in its holster, and his knife was sharpened and in its beaded sheath.

He swept his gaze around camp one last time, looking for anything he missed before rolling up his bedroll, tucking it under his arm and hoisting his heavy bag over his shoulders.

The walk wasn’t difficult, following the path he’d made twenty minutes earlier. He spooked a fox that’d been nibbling on what remained of the rabbit, and he stepped over it, taking care not to get any on his boots.

He pushed through the thicket lining the road into Gates, the walk taking no longer than an hour in his boots. He groaned quietly as he saw Sheriff Redmond notice him, jogging over to talk. He considered ducking back into the forest.

“Mr. Smith!” The sheriff called, the short jog making him sound out of breath.

“Sheriff.” Charles greeted politely, though hissed through his teeth. 

“Ya moving into town? Good, the wolf is still prowling- ya know it was here last night? In the streets! I need ya and the men to get back out there, and soon.”

“Actually, sir, I was just leaving.” Charles winced, glancing at the hotel. “Sorry.” He tacked on the end, feeling like he should.

The sheriff blinked at him. “Oh.” He said, trying to sound polite. “I wasn’t expecting... that.” 

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m leaving with Arth- Mr. Callahan, he’s having some family issues I thought I could help with.”

“Will ya be back?”

“I think so.”

“Oh, good!” Redmond said, suddenly all smiles again. “We’re gonna need ya, this wolf is gonna get it, one way or another.”

“Right.” Charles uttered, shaking himself. “Um. I need to go.”

“Of course, of course!” The sheriff laughed. “Don’t let me keep you. Safe travels, may God bless you!”

Charles scowled at that. He didn’t want anything to do with that God.

He trudged up the road, his sour mood slowly fading as he approached the bustling market street. A few vendors were out, braving the cold, and Charles slid through the crowd, looking for someone who looked good with a needle and thread.

He found a lady, her table littered with fur garments, and offered her the pelts he’d brought. She loved them, buying them for more than he’d offered and gushing about the nice mittens they’d make.

He walked to the hotel, the building looking a lot different in the day; more approachable. He went to the back, climbing the familiar stairs and stepping into the hallway.

It was much more bearable in his boots. It seemed lighter, friendlier, more welcoming. He barely noticed the rug that tugged at his claws, or the way the walls would’ve felt suffocating.

He just managed to stop himself from simply pushing Arthur’s door open, knocking instead. He shifted his bedroll, suddenly feeling a little overpacked. 

The door swung open to reveal Arthur with his own bedroll and bag leaning against the wall, along with a saddle bag slung over his shoulder. “Good, you’re here.” He smiled. “Was startin’ to think you got lost.”

“No, just stopped for breakfast.” Charles matched the smile, stepping into the room when Arthur held the door open for him. He dropped his stuff by the door, and Arthur clapped him on the shoulder.

“John, this is Charles. Charles, John.”

John was sitting on the bed, a comb stuck as he fought to tame the snarl of hair. “Nice t’ meet you, mister.” the boy grunted, tugging at the comb.

“Pleasure.”

Arthur tutted at the boy, moving to help him. “Careful, you’ll tear it all out. Honestly, you should just cut it.”

“No! I like it.” John spat, scooting away from Arthur’s hands.

The boys wrestled on the bed and Charles chuckled, moving to sit at the table. He understood John’s defiance about his hair. Not for the same reasons, he guessed, but he knew the feeling.

Soon John sat, crossed legged and fuming, with Arthur behind him combing his hair. Charles winced at the ripping sounds, but Arthur and John were unphased. Normal for them, then.

“So, mister-” John started, leaning forward.

“Charles.” Arthur corrected, tugging at his hair.

“Ow- yeah, Charles. You hear about the wolf last night?”

Charles nodded, letting out a puff of breath. “Can’t seem to stop hearing about it.”

Arthur snickered but John continued. “One of the boys out there said the pawprints were bigger than his face. How he figured that out, I don’t wanna know.”

Charles hummed as John chatted, Arthur combing his hair and he was suddenly struck with how domestic this was. He was a wolf, the man and boy in front of him outlaws, one with eight hundred dollars on his head. Yet, they sat in a warm room, combing hair and listening to the sounds out the open window.

When John’s hair was combed, Arthur stood to do one last sweep of the room. John slid off the bed, and with a glance to make sure Arthur’s back was turned, began digging through the bedside table.

Charles smothered a laugh and Arthur turned to look, John snapping up straight and hiding his hands, looking innocent. Arthur raised an eyebrow but returned to his work, tying his bag up.

John peeked at Charles, and he pointedly looked away, pretending not to notice. John grinned and went back to work, moving on to the cabinet when the bedside table revealed nothing but a penny.

They finished packing, John having smuggled a few dusty pennies and a candy. Charles tramped after them down the stairs, into the main floor of the hotel this time. Arthur told the lady at the desk to cancel his room as Charles and John hauled the bags outside.

“So, where’s your horse, mister?” John asked, Arthur’s bedroll seemingly huge in his arms. 

Charles felt like an idiot, suddenly remembering he had no horse. “I don’t have one.”

“What? How’d you get around then?” John asked, scoffing.

“Just walked. Or hitched rides.” He leaned down, glancing conspiratorially around the street. “Or stole one.”

John giggled, leaning in and pointing at the horse he’d ridden in on. “Arthur got me her from some crotchety old man- He told me he was planning on eating her.”

“What you boys talkin’ ‘bout?” Arthur whispered behind them.

John snapped upright and Charles chuckled. “Charles don’t got a horse!” John said, hoisting the bedroll up over his shoulder. “And I ain’t sharing mine!”

Arthur scoffed at his brother’s antics, dropping his saddle bag over the boy’s other shoulder. “Go on, put that on Boadicea.”

They watched John try to push the bedroll onto the warhorse’s rump. “You don’t have a horse?” Arthur asked.

“Ain’t ever really needed one.” Charles said, shifting his bag onto his other shoulder.

“No worries, you can ride with me till we… find one.”

Charles chuckled, not minding one bit. 

\-----

Riding with Arthur was stressful for reasons he didn’t want to think about.

John had taken his bag and bedroll, as the boy hadn’t brought anything with him when he arrived. Charles sat behind Arthur and he found himself struggling to decide where to put his hands.

He’d started just holding onto the saddle in front of him, but after his knuckles brushed against Arthur’s gunbelt he’s just been trying his best to balance. Arthur kept rolling his shoulders, and Charles was starting to think he was doing it on purpose, because his shirt tightened spectacularly over his muscles. While Charles was thick and bulky, Arthur's muscle was defined and tough, and it made Charles' head spin.

The two southerners had ditched their coats soon after leaving the valley, the air already warming up. Charles himself was starting to find it a little too warm, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. The cool beads of his necklace on his skin brought some comfort, and distraction from the way Arthur’s hair caught the sun.

John was chattering in front of them, leading the way down the hill at his own insistence. Charles couldn’t hear him, but every once in a while Arthur would rumble, “Sure, John.”

The hill sloped downward, and Arthur pushed back into Charles. “Sorry, Charles- lean back, Boa’s gotta keep balance.”

Charles leaned too, his nose nearly catching on Arthur’s hat. He ducked his head and was suddenly met with the smell of Arthur as his hair tickled his nose, so heady and strong it made his face flush. The horse stumbled, and Charles instinctively grabbed Arthur’s hips to stop himself from falling.

He didn’t let go when the ground evened out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn i love them sm sm sm sm!!!


End file.
